


A Tango in Traumatic Stress (and other fucked up tales)

by eldritchblaest



Series: We're (Not) Alright [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Autistic Character, F/M, Mentions of Kilgrave, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, They're both really fucked up, Trans Male Character, autistic matt murdock, i guess??, its matt, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 05:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17053706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritchblaest/pseuds/eldritchblaest
Summary: It takes two.





	1. Re: Cognize (Adapt)

**Author's Note:**

> In which I project all of myself on Matthew Michael Murdock, Esq.

It’s rough, at first- when you’ve got two emotionally and physically traumatized vigilantes living under the same roof, things tend to get messy.  
  
Like the time he woke up in the middle of the night to her hands wrapped around his neck.  
  
Or the time she pressed too hard on a bruise and then he’s shaking apart on the floor because _fuck, man, you didn’t tell me your mentor beat you_.  
  
She breaks things. He fixes them, and when they break again, he just says fuck it and replaces it.  
  
Not her, though- _could never replace you, Jes_ s.  
  
They’re laying in bed and he’s whispering sweet nothings in her ear, and suddenly she’s screaming and thrashing and he’s thrown from the bed and when he gets up there’s blood on his forehead because _holy fuck you sounded like him_.  
  
They compromise, after a while- he sleeps on the couch some nights. She throws out the scotch. He doesn’t call her darling.  
  
They talk- about PTSD and autism and the bruises on their ribs. They take solace in whatever moments they can spare- his hand on her back, tracing over the definition of her muscles; Her hands on his chest, tracing over top surgery scars. A shared love of combat boots; a hatred of hospitals.  
  
It’s difficult- it always will be. But they make it work.


	2. A Tango in Traumatic Stress

“Y’know, it’s funny,” he says, in that tone of voice suggesting that the topic at hand is not funny in the slightest. “I used to think about all these moments growing up-“  
  
He pauses here, thumbing his cane nervously, his leg bouncing incessantly. He continues.  
  
“I used to think they were all part of being a kid. Y’know, normally?”  
  
And _god_ , does she know- remembers the faces of the kids in college as she casually describes the way Dorothy used to beat Trish. How she’d stay up all night icing her sister’s face as they gossiped about boys and girls and the zombie apocalypse.  
  
She doesn’t say that to him, though- just nods and rests a hand on his arm.  
  
He looks at said hand- or rather, turns his head to face it. His expression is blank.  
  
A smile breaks out over his lips- he laughs, humorlessly at first, then grows increasingly hysterical with each inhale. There are tears in his eyes.  
  
She doesn’t say anything, eyes fixed resolutely to the floor. His laughs devolve into quiet sobs, and he huffs out a shaky breath.  
  
“Just a couple’a fuck ups,” is all he says, and she can’t help but smile too.


	3. 4: 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is taken from 2 Corinthians 4:17

They seek penance in different ways.  
  
She seeks it a the bottom of a bottle- in an grimy bar where the lights flicker every two minutes and the crowd is criminal at best. She breaks glass and kicks ass and always punches someone by the end of the night.  
  
He seeks it in the ring- in the old sounds and smells of sweat and leather and mildew and the never ending clank of chains. He beats on a bag until his hands turn red and his knuckles are so fucked up he can barely move them.  
  
It’s beautiful, in it’s own way- the symmetry of it all, the sheer depth of their trauma and hatred. They’re fuck ups, and they know it, and it all feels right.

So what if he shows up at 3 in the morning to drag her home?

So what is she wraps his hands in braces and covers his knuckles in band-aids?  
  
They’re healing and hurting in intervals, and they’re not gonna stop anytime soon.  
  
But it doesn’t hurt to have company.


End file.
